


To Leave Misery Behind

by ch1ps0h0y



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers, Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:33:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10980579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch1ps0h0y/pseuds/ch1ps0h0y
Summary: If Selena had taken Murtagh with her when she fled Morzan...





	To Leave Misery Behind

He heard the muted swish of cloth against stone and opened his eyes to a crack of light in his dark room. Cradled by cotton sheets and clutching a stuffed toy, he held his breath and lay still. A candle, flame puttering, hovered by his door before easing towards him. He moved back in alarm, wincing at the pull of the scar on his back. A hand reached out and a soft, familiar voice made soothing noises.

"Shh, shh..."

The boy flattened himself to his mattress, fearing his father's wrath again, but it was a gentle hand which stroked his hair. "Mother?" came his small voice.

_Murtagh, come with me. Be a good boy and don't speak._

He gasped at the words in his head. They were his mother's yet they had not been spoken. He bit his lip and nodded.

Following her hand, he crawled out from beneath the sheets and set his feet on cold stone. There was a shiver, quickly stifled, while he waited for her to bring him clothes and a pair of his sturdiest boots to wear. She motioned at him to hurry so he did.

"Are we going out?" Another hush.

She took him outside the manor. She took him through the back garden. Odd - did she mean to show him something in the forest outside? He looked to her, opening his mouth, but again she forestalled any queries with a finger to her lips.

_Do not speak until we are past the forest, Murtagh._

'Why?' he wanted to ask. But he bit his lip.

It was not yet winter but frost lay on the ground. Dark, spindly boughs reached overhead, threading through the stars above like a bony canvas of fingers. Murtagh had never feared those things said to lurk in the night. Even so, it was difficult not to believe some eldritch creature waited just behind some oddly-shaped trunk.

His mother pulled him along behind her, skirting branches that would snap, ice that would crunch underfoot: anything that would give their trail away before the sun rose. Murtagh noticed this, young and inexperienced though he was, and looked askance at her.

He knew she disappeared for months at a time for work. He had never questioned why or what she did but he knew the servants feared her. He knew his father was proud of her.

Suddenly, a raised voice.

" _Selenaaa!_ " it roared. Murtagh gasped and flung himself at his mother, clutching her waist as tightly as his small arms would allow. " _I know you're out there!_ "

Morzan. He cried out in fear and he heard his mother curse. She pried off his hands, knelt and scooped him into her arms. Then she bolted.

Murtagh had a perfect view over her shoulder of the trees groaning, bending, swaying. Their branches reached for him and his mother. He cried out when one snagged the shoulder of his shirt. Selena ruthlessly slashed off the branch with a dagger and hauled them away in a different direction.

A thunderous roar split the night. The trees seemed to bow down from the force of it. Murtagh quailed, whimpering into his mother's shoulder. That roar had been from his father's dragon.

Selena muttered a string of words he could not identify. They kept running. Murtagh clutched her because he didn't know what else to do, didn't have the courage to leap out of her arms and start running on his own. No-one could outrun his father's dragon. No-one.

The roars followed them through the forest, chasing all sleepers into wakefulness, scaring all wildlife into deeper shadows. Murtagh gasped at the tongue of flame his father's dragon belched and saw frost shrivel.

"Mother...!" He pointed although she couldn't see. The head of Morzan's dragon emerged from a curtain of flame, crimson eyes searching, searching for them.

"Keep your head down, Murtagh, don't look." Selena pushed her son's head down and jolted in a different direction.

They broke through the thicket and suddenly all fell quiet.

Murtagh lifted his head and gazed around in confusion. Where was the fire? The roars? Morzan's bellows?

His mother did not let off her pace. She wove around the thinning trees, always making sure they had cover, before they came upon a road stretching all the way into the western mountains. Finally, she slowed, though her pace remained brisk as she hurried along the path. Hearing her hoarse panting, Murtagh struggled in her arms.

"Mother, I can walk," he whispered.

She shook her head and refused to release him. She continued on her stubborn path until an unseen stone nearly brought her to her knees, Murtagh almost tumbling from her arms. Then at last she let him down and they walked, hand in hand, towards the lights of a distant village.

"Murtagh," she said. He looked up and met her tired eyes. "From now on, you are no longer the son of Morzan. You are my son: Selena's son. Understand?"

He didn't understand but she was gazing at him so seriously. He nodded and she smiled, squeezing his hand.

"Good. Don't ever mention his name again. Not even when we're alone."

 

Fifteen years later, Murtagh gazed upon the awesome falls of the Spine, a simple hunting bow in hand. Nothing he owned was extravagant any more, none of it the embellished equipment or garb of a lord. His shirt and trousers were those of a farmer's, his palms had callouses from tireless work in the fields. Anything that could have hinted at his once-noble blood had been quietly sold to passing merchants, the money kept in a strongbox along with Garrow's meagre earnings.

Once he had grown old enough to understand the value of it, he would insist his uncle use the coin whenever the farm suffered, but Garrow would not hear of it. He always said that the money did not belong to him and grew angry when he found out Murtagh had purchased food for their family.

"This farm and I have lasted longer than you, boy. You think I'll starve to death now?" Garrow had once said grumpily.

Murtagh put such thoughts aside for now. He withdrew an arrow from his quiver and drew the fletching back towards his cheek. A young doe browsed the bushes some distance away, unaware of the hunter lying patiently in wait. Murtagh took one slow breath in to steady his hand, and released.

His arrow took the doe in the neck. The animal panicked and began to thrash, frightening the rest of its brethren deeper into the Spine. Murtagh didn't bother to chase them down. He exhaled and began to stand.

Beside him, his companion whistled quietly.

"Good shot," they said enviously. They, too, had a bow in hand, though it lay across their knees for now. "Although nothing can beat that time you shot one right through the eye."

Murtagh smiled to himself as he picked his way over. The doe's death trail would be easy to track. "That was luck."

"I'll be as good as you one day, just watch." His companion, a younger man with lighter brown hair but the same eyes, followed his lead. Murtagh chuckled and ruffled their hair.

"Someday, Eragon. Someday."

**Author's Note:**

> This author will never not complain about the lack of vocabulary in Paolini's terrible, made-up language.


End file.
